


Dear Len

by ellipsisthegreat



Series: Army!AU [2]
Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: Gen, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-02
Updated: 2011-04-02
Packaged: 2017-10-17 11:02:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/176197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ellipsisthegreat/pseuds/ellipsisthegreat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>However whorish and insatiable his fellow soldiers may think him (and he is pretty damn whorish and insatiable, honestly), Jim has never (knowingly) slept with someone who was in any sort of romantic relationship with someone else. Sequel to ‘In Which Pushups are the Sexiest Things Ever.’</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dear Len

**Author's Note:**

> _**DISCLAIMER** _ _: Star Trek and everything affiliated with it belongs to Gene Roddenberry, JJ Abrams and all those other people who own it. All I own is the plot…_
> 
>  _**A/N:** _ _Somehow, a sequel appeared. XD I suppose, given how this ended, that there should be at least one more part for this AU, but…well, we'll see._
> 
>  _It's probably obvious that I know next to nothing about the army, and I apologize profusely for any mix-ups and downright fallacies that may appear in this fic. If anyone who knows more about these sorts of things would be so kind as to point them out, I'll be more than happy to fix them ASAP. Thanks~!_

Now that Private Jim Kirk knows about Doctor Leonard-Dammit-Not-Bones McCoy's secret athleticism, he notices a lot of things about Bones he's never even registered before.

It starts with little things, like the way he always eats desert first in the Mess—slowly, his lips practically making out with the fork or spoon he's using to eat, then pressing together to savor the taste, tongue dipping out once or twice to lick the residue from his mouth. Then, desert finished, he shovels down the rest of his meal so quickly Jim doubts he even notices what he's eating.

Then they're running together one day and Jim slows down to flirt with one of the girls in their squadron (Private Gaila Wallace). Bones snorts and runs ahead, and when Jim goes to catch up he nearly trips over his own feet when he sees the way Bones' back flexes under the tight PT shirt he's wearing; the way his loose PT shorts bounce up with every step to show just a little more of his pale thigh, lightly dusted with dark hairs that are matted down with sweat.

And then—then—he notices the big things. The _biggest_ thing, which isn't that big at all, because it's just a ring. Just a thick gold ring that glints at Jim in the sunlight one day, completely _blindsiding_ him because he hasn't thought about Bones being married in _ages_. Sure, he's ribbed the older man about the 'steamy love letters' he gets every once in a while, and the care packages that come once or twice a month, but for some reason it never really bothered him, before.

Now it bothers him _a lot_.

Because however whorish and insatiable his fellow soldiers may think him (and he _is_ pretty damn whorish and insatiable, honestly), he has never (knowingly) slept with someone who was in any sort of romantic relationship with someone else.

It's times like these that Jim _hates_ having morals.

(WHOWASTHATPOINTY-EAREDPAGEBREAK?)

The new kid, Chekov, is shit with a gun.

They aren't sure how he got through Basic, to be honest, because he really is _that bad_. But somehow he did, and now they're tasked with having to teach him how to hit an actual target—they're worried about what's going to happen when he has to hit a _moving_ target, and they don't even want to think about _living_ targets.

For now, they're hoping it's a very well-executed joke. But until the kid actually fesses up to it, they're stuck watching him shoot and miss the target repeatedly, with nothing else to do but attempt to direct him. Which mostly means they're bitching at him in hopes that embarrassment coming from peers will serve as a better instructor than a drill sergeant (which is faulty logic on several different levels, but fuck it; Spock is in a meeting with Pike at the moment, anyhow).

Jim isn't exactly sure why _Bones_ is here, throwing in his own biting remarks every once in a while, but everyone else accepts his arched eyebrow and explanation of 'I grew up in Georgia' and allow his comments without much debate.

When a Private comes to deliver their mail, they hold Chekov's hostage but pass out everyone else's for them to read in between jibes at the kid's poor marksmanship—and that's when things sort of go to shit.

Bones is reading a letter from The Wife. Jim can tell, because he's rubbing his thumb against the ring on his finger and he's got That Smile on his face—the only one he ever really gets, and that only comes around when he's reading letters from The Wife. But then the smile fades little by little, his eyebrows scrunching and lips pursing together like they do when Jim or another member of the squad has done something particularly stupid (which is a fairly regular occurrence).

Suddenly, just as Chekov is sighing and reloading his gun for the umpteenth time, Bones surges forward, shoving the letter into his pocket as he snatches the gun out of Chekov's hand. He cocks the gun with a vicious snap of his wrist, aims, and shoots off the entire clip with barely a pause as he periodically re-aims. When he's finished, he unloads and re-loads, shoving the gun back into a gaping Chekov's arms.

"You're not taking the wind into account, you stupid little shit." He snarls. "I don't know where in the fuck you went to Basic, but they obviously didn't have the high winds that we do here. Use the genius brain you're supposed to have and figure it the fuck out."

And then he turns on his heels and stalks off without another word.

"Oh, shit." Sulu says—none of them had given a thought to the _wind_ , of all things. Everything is quiet for a moment, then, because everyone is staring after Bones and wondering what on God's green Earth had made him explode like that (because as often as the man explodes, he usually has a somewhat good reason).

"Do you think the doctor hates me?" Chekov looks like he's going to cry.

This state of being makes a lot more sense when they study the dummy, which now has prominent bullet holes in its head, chest, and crotch.

(As far as anyone can tell, they're all Bones'…and a quick count tells them that none of Bones' bullets was off-target.)

(WHOWASTHATPOINTY-EAREDPAGEBREAK?)

"Bones?" Jim doesn't find him until much later in the day, after dinner. He's in the 'smoking corner' of the camp, which is curiously absent of its usual inhabitants. Even more curious is the cigarette hanging from between Bones lips as he surveys that letter again; Bones has railed against 'those goddamned cancer sticks' on more than one occasion.

Bones glances up at him, taking the cigarette between his pointer and middle fingers and sighing out a puff of smoke. He motions at the empty crate next to him, and when Jim has settled in he holds out the letter.

Jim takes it, but doesn't look at it. "Bones, talk to me. Please. You totally flipped out, earlier; Chekov nearly shit himself. Hell, we _all_ nearly shit ourselves."

"It's a Dear John."

"Fuck." Jim mutters, finally looking down at the letter as he runs a hand through his hair. "Fuck, Bones, I'm so—"

"She's been seeing someone else since Basic." Bones says. His voice is shaking a little. "She sent divorce papers."

Jim's mouth, for once, is empty of words. All he can do is gulp and, hesitantly, put a hand on Bones' shoulder.

"She's gonna file for sole custody of Joanna."

Fuck, fuck , fuck, that is definitely a tear. Bones is definitely crying. Fuckity fuck.

"Bones…"

Bones shakes his head and takes a deep drag off of his cigarette, dropping the butt onto the ground and twisting it into the sand with his heel as he stands up.

"I'm gonna try to get some sleep." Bones mutters, no longer meeting Jim's eyes.

"Bones." Jim says again, but when Bones looks up at him he can't remember what he wanted to say. So instead he looks around and stands up and throws his arms around Bones in a tight hug that he ends before Bones can reciprocate (or push him away). And as his hands grip Bones' arms of their own accord, his mouth finally finds the right words to say. "If you need anything— _anything_ —that I can help you with, just ask, okay?"

Bones purses his lips together, his face scrunching slightly like he's trying to keep from crying. But he reaches up and squeezes one of Jim's hands in his. "Thanks, Jim."

"You can't divorce _me_ , Bones; I'll be here no matter what." Jim says, and smiles when a laugh forces itself out of Bones' throat. He slings an arm around Bones' shoulder. "Let's go get some of that whiskey I know you've got stashed in your bunk."

Bones puts an arm around Jim's waist—Jim bites the inside of his mouth to take his mind off of it—and nods.

They walk back to the barracks without saying much—Jim spends most of the short trip studiously ignoring the traitorous thoughts about how strong Bones feels under his arm, and how Bones' hand feels on his hip, and how he's played the rebound man before, so why not now?

Strangely, Bones is the first person for whom Jim really, really doesn't want to play the rebound man.

Strangely, Bones is the first person for whom Jim really, _really_ wants to be _more_.

The End


End file.
